The Death of a Friendship

4 months ago my life changed.

After 20 years, one of my best friends and I broke up.  For good.

20 years of believing that friendships are made to be secure, to last a lifetime.  20 years of sharing my deepest secrets with someone who knew parts of me that the rest of the world didn't see, both the good and the bad.  20 years of inside jokes, creative passion, and shameless, nerdy fandom.  20 years of knowing how she likes her Chai, of sharing clothes and memories, of being willing to fight like a lion for her if she needed me to. 20 years of consciously choosing each other again and again through ups and downs in marriages with the husbands we met long after we'd committed our friendships to each other, through identity crises, through the births of 5 children between us, through loss, heartache, and inexplicable joy.  20 years of choosing each other to turn to, depend on, and love through it all.  20 years knowing that without a doubt, this person was a part of my life, and 20 years of confidence that she would always be in my future.

And in April it was all gone. *Snap.* Just like that. The door slammed closed, and a part of me died along with our friendship, leaving me grasping for the parts of myself that got left behind in the chasm between us.

"Soul Sisters."  That's what we called ourselves.  We believed with all our hearts that friends are the family you choose.  In a blink our chosen family was severed, and I've been trying to find a way to cope with this ever since.

In the book, The Friend Who Got Away, Jenny Offill & Elissa Schappell wrote,

"The loss of a friendship can be nearly as painful as a bitter divorce or a death.  And yet it is a strange sort of heartbreak, one that is rarely discussed, even in our tell-all society.  Tales of disastrous loves abound, but there is something about a failed friendship that makes those involved guard it like a shameful secret.  'Whatever happened to your friend?' someone asks, and more often than not the answer comes back carefully crafted to give away nothing.  We had a falling out.  It's complicated.  Why does the thought of seeing an ex-friend sometimes stop our hearts in a way that seeing an old lover doesn't?  Why is it so difficult to trace the arc of a failed friendship, to shape it into a recognizable narrative?  Even country music, with its laundry list of heartache and longing, won't touch it."  

 One thing I have come to understand is that it is nearly impossible to talk about a lost friendship.  It isn't socially acceptable the way it is with the loss of a romantic relationship.  It's hard to talk about it without placing blame or letting your hurt and anger disparage the other person.  Doing so puts your mutual friends in a bad place, and after 20 years, we have plenty of those. It isn't something widely written about in literature, touched by lyricists, or realistically portrayed in media.  It is a strange and silent battle and a restrained sort of suffering. (I will say that I have been blessed to have a small circle of amazingly supportive people listening to me, talking through things, and being there for hugs and the occasional margarita.  I honestly don't know where I'd be without these treasured souls, and I owe my current bit of sanity to them.)

"Let it go." "Forget about her." "Move on." "Ignore it."

It is wonderful advice that is impossible to follow.

The violent crash of circumstances that caused the death of our friendship left me grieving and confused and angry.  I know it did for her too, and it is going to take time.  Just time. Nothing else, no amount of self control, no number of miles, no quippy quotes, or new friends, can make it better.  I just have to breathe. And grieve. And day by day I must accept that she is grieving and angry too, and that these things are the measure of distance between us, that through time we will accept.  One day we will let go.  

For now, just breathe.